


Ransom

by dragongirlG



Series: Dudley Dursley Learns About Harry [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crisis of conscience, Fast Food, Flashbacks, Gen, Hotels, Internal Conflict, Jack the Muggle Kidnapper, Kidnapping, Memory Alteration, Muggle Life, POV Outsider, Post-Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Stockholm Syndrome, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-04-12
Updated: 2004-06-04
Packaged: 2020-05-28 07:51:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19389742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragongirlG/pseuds/dragongirlG
Summary: Slight AU summer before OotP. All Jack wants is a hefty ransom for that spoilt Dudley Dursley. When he kidnaps another boy in the Dursley house along with Dudley, however, he gets a lot more than he bargained for. Sequel toAlmost.





	1. Kidnapped

_...all through the house/Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse..._

- _The Night Before Christmas_ , Clement C. Moore

It was a clear, peaceful night on Privet Drive. The first day of August had dawned bright and sunny, making Petunia Dursley's flowers glow in a vivacious blend of colors. The evening had been quiet, filled with little talk, and much to his family's surprise, Dudley Dursley had gone to bed early, silently vowing to get rid his baby fat and replace with muscle.

Jack stood at the back door of house number four with his companions, waiting until he heard the loud snores of the fat blonde boy. Carefully, he picked the lock of the door and crept inside the kitchen, armed, like his two companions, with a switchblade and duct tape. As he crept up the stairs silently, he quickly reviewed the facts in his head: Vernon Dursley was head of a successful drills company, his wife was a housewife who gave all attention to her son, and Dudley went to a high-class private school called Smeltings. The ransom would be great for this one, for the parents had no greater joy than their son. He had observed them from far away as they loaded the newest televisions or video game systems into the house, always calling, "Dudders, look what we've got for you!" It was sick, he thought, all the love they gave to the brat. But no more.

As he came to the top of the stairs, he frowned. Two bedroom doors loomed in front of him, where only one should be closed. He knew the parents' room, but had expected to find only one bedroom occupied, and both were dark. Where was the boy staying? Or better yet, who was in the other room? Another person he could take for ransom, perhaps?

He decided to try the first door. He opened it quietly and stared at the person inside in surprise. A skinny teenage boy lay sleeping on the bed. His clothes were quite baggy. Jack could faintly see a pair of glasses on the bedstand. Was this a guest visiting the house? A friend of Dudley's? A relative? He had never seen the boy before.

"All the better for ransom," one of his companions breathed into his ear.

Jack looked at the boy doubtfully, his eyes sweeping the room. On the desk were two cards. He discerned the words "Happy Birthday, Harry" on one of them. Yes, good for another ransom, yet it would be such an inconvenience to take him along. He didn't even know anything about him.

The other companion grunted impatiently. "What do you say, Jack?"

It would be best to leave him alone, Jack thought, but his companion needed something to satisfy his desire for action.

"Go ahead," Jack whispered, closing his eyes in an apology. He moved out of the room, silently opening Dudley's bedroom door. Motioning his companion forward, he watched as the burly man clamp a hand over the boy's mouth. Dudley's eyes flew open and he struggled, but the man dragged him out of the bed and held a knife to his throat.

"Quietly, now," Jack's companion said. Dudley's eyes widened with fear and he was still as his captor hauled him down the stairs.

Harry awoke suddenly to find a hand clamped over his mouth. His yell was muffled as he struggled to reach for his wand or glasses, which were lying in the nightstand. His wand fell to the floor, and he groaned in frustration.

"Want your glasses, eh?" his captor breathed, taking the spectacles and holding them high out of Harry's reaches.

"Now," someone whispered from the doorway, "Give them to him. A man's no good without his eyesight."

Harry's glasses were dropped reluctantly into his hand. He gripped them tightly as he was dragged out of bed. He struggled violently and tried to get to his wand, but a knife flashed silver in front of him and was pressed flat against his throat.

"Feel this?" his captor breathed. "Now, you don't want me to turn it to one of the edges. Come quietly, boy, or..." He felt the knife being pressed harder. "I'll silt your throat."

Harry stopped struggling, breathing hard.

"Put on your glasses," the man at the door ordered.

The grip on his mouth moved to one at his waist and he put them on. Before he could call out, however, the hand was clamped over his mouth once more, tighter than before.

"Let's go," his captor whispered.

He dragged Harry into the kitchen and out the back door. A summer breeze ruffled his hair and he looked up at the stars in the night sky. A minute later, he was in the windowless back of a semi-large van, and to his surprise, he saw Dudley sitting there with another man.

Dudley lay still as the men bound his wrists and ankles, but the other boy fought Jack's companions violently, twisting here and there with a desperate fury.

"God, what a fighter," Jack muttered. He sat in the driver's seat of the van, staring at his unexpected captive. Waiting until the boy was tightly bound, he ordered, "Let me stay with him," and switched seats with one of his companions. The van jerked forward as he sat down in front of the boy, who stared at him with bright green eyes and said nothing.

"What's your name?" Jack asked, ignoring Dudley's whimpers.

The boy's voice was low and flat. "Harry Potter."

"Potter?" Jack frowned. "I've never heard of anyone by that name."

Harry pulled his knees close to his chest, wrapping his arms around them as best he could. "My parents are dead," he replied tonelessly.

"What are you afraid of, boy?" Jack leaned closer and reached into his back pocket for his knife.

He didn't answer.

"Spiders?" Jack ventured.

There was a pause, and he answered, "Not particularly."

"Pain?"

Another pause. "No."

"Death?" Jack took his knife out and put it close to the boy's throat.

Harry stiffened slightly and said nothing.

Jack's eyes traveled from the boy's throat to his forehead, and he suddenly noticed a mark there, covered slightly by the black hair. He pushed the hair away with a light touch of his fingers, looking like a curious child reaching for something high in the cupboard.

Harry tensed visibly and tried to move away. Jack made out a thin scar down the center of his forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt.

"Where'd you get the scar?" Jack asked, moving back into a comfortable position against the back of the van.

Harry didn't answer. Instead, closed his eyes and settled himself against the seat behind him, his face strangely serene.

 _The boy is being so difficult_ , Jack thought irritably. He watched Harry's chest rise and fall evenly. _Or maybe he's just tired._

The van moved steadily on through the night, unnoticed as the world lay asleep on the early morning of August 2.


	2. Musings

Harry was interesting, Jack thought, as he watched the boy sleep with his head in his knees. The scar on his forehead, the fact that he had no parents, why he was staying with the Dursleys, the strange color of his eyes. They were beautiful eyes, Jack knew. He wondered if Harry had ever got a modeling contract for them.

Harry himself was not handsome yet; he looked to be about fifteen years old, still in the midst of a growth spurt, and was rather skinny. Still, there was an endearing little-boy quality that made Jack wonder if any girls liked him. He knew that - what was her name? - Arlene would have thought the boy adorable...

A soft whimper caught Jack's ears, and he quickly scanned the area for the source of the sound. It sounded muffled - was that Harry? He looked at the boy curiously. He was saying something in his sleep - no - _waking up_ \- _raises his head, falls to the side_ –

Jack caught Harry before he hit the floor of the van and set him gently down onto his side. The whimpering had stopped, and Jack wondered if he had imagined it. Harry's locks were pasted across his sweaty forehead, and Jack brushed one back gently, revealing the thin lightning-bolt scar. Harry had yet to tell him where the scar had come from. It didn't _look_ like a knife wound; no, the shape was too clear, as if someone had carved it there carefully with a pick of ice. A pick of ice? Could that be where it was from? Who would cut his skin with a pick of ice? Someone trying to commit suicide, maybe - but no, thought Jack, the scar was much too old...

"No, please!" A strained cry issued from Harry's lips. "Don't kill Cedric - stop, stop - Mum, Dad, he's trying to kill me -" A whimper, and the boy struggled against his bonds even though he was not awake. "Stop him, Dad! He's trying to kill me! He's killed Cedric!"

Jack drew back, startled, as Harry's eyes flew open suddenly and stared at him unseeingly. They regained their focus quickly and traveled up and down Jack's face, then squinted and surveyed the bonds on Harry's wrists and ankles. Harry propped himself up into a sitting position with use of his elbows and stared back at his captor.

"Who are you?" he asked.

Jack thought of a book he had read in his childhood, and his lips curled into a grin. "Who are _you_?" he countered.

"You know who I am," said Harry, staring hard at Jack. Jack wondered why Harry kept squinting at his left forearm.

"What is it?" he asked, looking down at his arm. It was bare and clean. He was glad he had opted out of tattoos; they were lifelong imprints and didn't make for good impressions on girls. Smart, clean girls. Jack wasn't dirty, though the two guards were; whenever they went out for some instant gratification, he told them to enjoy themselves and stayed in the hotel or flat reading a book he had bought. Jack was a bit of a scholar: he loved reading Thoreau and Emerson and all sorts of philosophy. If only he had been able to go to university - if only –

Harry's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Nothing." He continued to stare at Jack's arm, and a wondering look crossed his face.

Jack grinned as a sudden idea struck him. "Like my muscles, do you?" he asked Harry. Unlike his guards, Jack was not a burly man; he had a slender build with lean muscles. However, Harry was much too skinny; Jack's arms probably looked like Arnold Schwarznegger's to him.

Harry looked surprised. "Er," he said uncertainly. "No."

"What is it, then?"

"Nothing," Harry repeated, and he looked past Jack toward the scenery outside.

"Are you hungry?" Jack asked, glancing at his watch. It was 7:00 A.M. They would need to get breakfast soon.

Harry shook his head and drew his knees up to his chest.

"Do you want anything?" said Jack.

He saw Harry hesitate, and then the boy asked, "What's your name?"

"Jack," answered Jack.

"Oh." Harry scanned Jack's face, his brow furrowing slightly.

"What were you doing at the Dursleys?" Jack asked. The question had been eating away at him ever since Harry had fallen asleep.

"I live with the Dursleys," said Harry distantly, turning his attention back to the window. "I'm their nephew."

Jack blinked. "I never noticed you before."

"I only stay there during the summer," said Harry. "I go to school the rest of the time."

"Boarding school, then," said Jack.

Harry nodded.

"Which one?"

"H—Eton," Harry said quickly. His eyes darted about the van for a moment, and then rested on the passing scenery once more.

"Oh," said Jack. "Is it nice?"

Harry nodded.

"Expensive?"

Harry shrugged. "I guess."

"Do the Dursleys pay for all this?" If the couple could afford both Eton _and_ Smeltings, then they'd be able to provide so much more ransom...

Harry shook his head, and Jack felt a pang of disappointment. "I use my own money. My parents left me some when they died."

"When did they die?" Jack asked.

"When I was one," said Harry.

Jack's curiosity got the better of him, and the words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Who's Cedric?" he asked, remembering Harry's words in his sleep.

Harry tensed at once. "What did you say?" he asked, his voice laced with shock.

"Who's Cedric?" Jack repeated, watching Harry's face.

"No one," said Harry, too quickly.

"You were talking in your sleep," Dudley put in unexpectedly from the corner. Jack turned to look at him, but Harry remained where he was, his fists clenched and resting on his knees.

"You're lying," said Harry sharply.

"No, I'm not!" Dudley's voice was petulant. "Ask _him_. Jack, or whatever his name is."

"Shut up," hissed Harry angrily. His head swiveled around and he glared at his cousin.

Jack remembered, as if from another life, a research project he had done for school when he was sixteen on post-traumatic stress disorder. " _Symptoms: recurring nightmares, intrusive memories, irritability, outbursts of anger, emotional numbness..."_ Harry had obviously been through something involving this Cedric person – _"He's killed Cedric"_ – so he had probably watched Cedric being murdered..."You saw him die, didn't you?" Jack asked Harry, his wonder about this boy increasing by the minute.

Harry nodded silently and stared out the window.

"Oh. I'm sorry," said Jack. He opened his mouth to ask another question, trying to figure out how to word it without being too rude, but Dudley did it for him.

"How?"

"How what?" said Harry, though the tone of voice suggested that he knew perfectly well what.

"How did you see Cedric die?" asked Dudley.

"Why do you want to know?" Harry shot back.

To Jack's surprise, a look of hurt and jealousy flashed across Dudley's face. "I just—"

"Wanted to know?" finished Harry sarcastically.

Dudley said nothing.

"You've never taken an interest in my life before, so why should you now?" Harry said, glancing at Dudley suspiciously. "I thought we'd been over this before."

"But..."

Jack frowned. He had liked Harry before, but now...Dudley was only trying to be friendly, and Harry was acting completely insensitive, unless there was a lot more to this than Jack knew – which, of course, there was...

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry snapped.

"So you _did_ ," said Dudley, sounding triumphant.

Harry's fingers curled in toward his palms once more. "Shut up," he said flatly. _The calm before the storm,_ said a voice in Jack's head. _He'll explode soon if he doesn't_ –

"Okay," said Jack, starting to feel nervous. "Dudley, stop it. Harry, if you don't want to talk about it, then you don't have to. Got it?"

Harry nodded tightly, not looking at Jack. Dudley glowered at him.

Jack sighed. This was turning out to be a lot harder than he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Jack thought of a book he had read in his childhood, and his lips curled into a grin. 'Who are you?' he countered." –the book is Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, from the chapter "Advice from a Caterpillar."


	3. Travel

They stopped at a McDonald's "drive-thru" for breakfast. Jack ordered ham-lettuce-tomato sandwiches for everyone and also an ice-cream for Harry, who seemed rather surprised at this action.

"You're too skinny for your own good," said Jack, before Harry could open his mouth to ask any questions. "Eat up."

Harry glanced at Dudley, who was eyeing the treat enviously, and seemed about to offer the cup to Dudley when Jack said sharply, "Don't give it to your fat lump of a cousin! I bought that for you!"

Harry withdrew his bound hands and set the ice cream down carefully on the floor of the van. "How are we supposed to eat with our hands tied?" he asked.

Jack paused. How could he have forgotten about that?

Harry gazed at him questioningly.

"Fine," muttered Jack. He took the switchknife out of his pocket and cut the ropes around Harry's wrists.

"That's only if you promise not to try to kill me," whispered Jack in Harry's ear.

Harry's green eyes widened in a startled response, but he said nothing. He picked up the ice cream and began spooning it into his mouth slowly, watching Jack's every move. Jack put the knife back into his breast pocket and climbed over the back seat to get his food.

"What about Dudley?" Harry asked, twisting his head around so that he could look at his captor.

"What about him?" Jack said.

"Doesn't he get his wrists untied too?"

"No," said Jack, holding out two wrapped sandwiches to Harry. Harry took them, handing one to his cousin without moving his head.

"Why not?" said Harry, as Dudley grasped the sandwich with both hands.

"Because he's a spoilt brat, that's why," said Jack, unwrapping his own sandwich.

Harry opened his mouth to reply, then closed it. He seemed to be undergoing some type of inner conflict.

"Well, can I untie him then?" he asked.

Smart kid, thought Jack dryly. "Only his wrists," he answered. "You can't untie his ankles. Or your ankles. If you do, I won't hesitate to hurt you."

"Okay," said Harry. He moved over to his cousin and undid the knots about Dudley's wrists. Jack watched him carefully, but Harry did not say anything to Dudley, and he settled back into his seat, relaxed.

At least this boy can be trusted, he thought. He finished his sandwich and lay down in the backseat to take a nap.

A whispering woke him; the noise was faint over the roar of the car, and Jack lifted his head up, straining to catch the words.

"What are you doing?!"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"B-but – you heard what they said – they'll hurt us –"

"You must be even stupider than I thought, Dudley," said Harry impatiently. "Not that I ever had much faith in your intelligence, but haven't you ever heard of the word 'escape?'"

"Th-they'll catch us a-and k-kill us!"

Not true, thought Jack, and he smiled wryly. Harry, one, Dudley, zero...

"If we escape before they notice, they won't catch us, idiot."

"B-but –"

"You're the boxing champion, aren't you?" Harry snapped. "If they try to hurt us, why don't you just beat them up?"

"Why don't you use those freak powers of yours?"

"I'm not allowed. You know that."

Freak powers? thought Jack sleepily. What...?

"You did it on Aunt Marge, and last year, with my tongue –"

"I didn't do anything last year. The twins made the sweets. As for Aunt Marge...well...that was a special circumstance. Now shut up, I'm trying to get us out of here."

There was a silence. Jack strained his ears to catch any sounds. They can't do anything, he thought uneasily, because the doors are locked...you can only unlock them through the driver's control –

A blast of wind knocked him backward. He jumped up and briefly saw Harry and Dudley fall out of the open back doors before he turned and hollered, "Stop! Stop the car, damn it!"

The car halted suddenly; the ignition was shut off, and the guard-driver turned around. "What is it, boss?"

"They've escaped!"

Jack opened the door and jumped down from the van. He spotted two blurs in the distance, but it was difficult to judge how far he would have to run to catch them in the darkness. Not very far; the boys' muscles would be weak after sitting for so long...

It did not take long to catch them. Harry, it seemed, was an extremely fast runner, but Dudley was not as fit, and this slowed the boys down. Jack knew that if he were Harry, he would probably go on ahead and leave Dudley behind. That, however, was the way of the streets; two boys of bourgeois living had most certainly not been brought up that way...

As soon as the guards had gotten a firm grip on the boys, Jack walked around to face Harry. Dudley, again, hung limply, but Harry, glaring murderously, fought the hold on his arms.

"What on earth," hissed Jack angrily, "did you think you were doing?"

"Trying to escape, that's what," Harry spat.

"You wouldn't have had anywhere else to go," said Jack, fighting the urge to slap the boy.

"At least I would have had the liberty to do what I wanted instead of being under someone else's control," said Harry furiously.

Jack laughed in disbelief. "What you _wanted_? You wouldn't even have been able to get what you _needed_. You've never lived on the streets, have you? It's a tough life there, you idiot schoolboy. I wouldn't expect you to know. There's hardly any water, and the food you get is half-rotten. There's no fast food, and there's certainly no ice cream. Being with me was your safest option. If I had wanted, I could have dumped you in the bad part of town and washed my hands clean of both you and your cousin. No evidence, no crime, no conviction."

A long silence passed, and they stood listening to the indistinct calls of insects. At last, Harry said quietly, "There's a reason I have to stay with the Dursleys. I wish I could tell you, but I don't even know what it is – all I know is that I'm safest there and that I'm not allowed to be anywhere else for the summer. You see, there's someone after me, and he apparently can't hurt me if I'm at the Dursleys...but if I'm anywhere else, he can kill me."

Jack frowned. "Who is this person?"

"Lord Voldemort," said Harry, and his expression grew distant. "I don't think you've ever heard of him, but he tried to kill me when I was a baby, and he...he came back last year and killed Cedric, and he tried to kill me, but I escaped..." Harry's voice trailed off.

"Why does he want to kill you?"

"I...I don't know." Harry's face showed the faintest hint of uncertainty.

"Lord" indeed, mused Jack. Had Harry had a skirmish with the Mafia?

"Who is Cedric?" asked Dudley, peering at his cousin.

"He was...a friend," said Harry slowly.

Jack couldn't help himself. "Would you like to talk about it?" he burst out. Harry glanced at him sharply, surprised. "It might be easier to...to deal with."

Harry seemed to consider this for a moment, then asked, "Where are you taking us?"

"We're going to find a hotel to stay in," said Jack, noting the abrupt change of topic, "and get washed up, and all that. I'm sorry, Harry," he said, feeling very tired suddenly. He turned, walked back to the driver's seat, and started the engine.


	4. Trust

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

No, Jack thought, listening to the running water from the lavatory, he hadn't planned this.

His original plan, he knew, had been to kidnap Dudley, leaving behind a ransom note demanding ninety-thousand pounds. What he would do with the money, he did not know. He had thought about flying to another country with a new identity after paying the two guards with a quarter of the sum each. He had considered buying a house high up in the Scottish highlands, living there as a recluse like Thoreau. This, of course, would occur after he got the money and returned Dudley to his home. A private affair - the parents gave the money; he gave them the boy. No outside interference. The plan would run smoothly with no complications.

Now, everything was messed up.

He had been so caught up in finding out about Harry that he'd forgotten to place the anonymous telephone call, telling the Dursleys where to meet him; he'd forgotten to plan which hotel to go to in order to hide from the police; he'd forgotten that the Dursleys would even think of _calling_ the police; he'd forgotten...

He'd forgotten to listen to the news, damn it. He should have known that the police would be searching for Dudley. Fortunately, he'd made the boys put on a disguise before they entered the hotel; that at least would buy him a little bit of time. He'd given the guards another room together, so it wouldn't look as though the boys were being guarded, and he'd cut the ropes on Harry's and Dudley's wrists in order to avoid suspicion. Yet there was something...

He heard the water shut off and walked to the lavatory door, rapping on it lightly.

"Harry?" he said.

"Yeah?"

"Step out, I've got some clothes you can wear. God knows you need some new ones; I don't know how you survive on those rags you were wearing."

"I didn't exactly have time to go and change into a suit," muttered Harry as he opened the door slightly and took the proffered clothes in Jack's hands.

"True," said Jack through the door as Harry stepped out of the bathroom, toweling his hair, "but everybody needs good sleepwear as well. The fibers in worn clothes are bad for your skin."

Harry shrugged and shoved his glasses on his face.

"Do they fit you?" Jack asked.

"I guess," Harry answered awkwardly. He was wearing a dark green collared shirt and khaki pants held up by a brown leather belt. The shirt was slightly loose in the sleeves, but it was nothing compared to the monstrosity of Dudley's old shirts.

"I thought the shirt would accentuate your eyes," said Jack, peering at Harry in the mirror thoughtfully. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Oh," said Harry vaguely, "yeah. My friend's mother bought some r - er - cl - er - a shirt last year for me so that I could go to the Yule Ball. She told me the same thing." He smiled a little, but then a strange expression came across his face and his eyes dropped to the floor. Jack decided not to press any further.

"Come on over to the table," he said, leading Harry across the room. "It's just fish and chips tonight. No more ice cream."

"That's okay," said Harry. He sat down across from Dudley and began to eat, slowly popping the chips into his mouth. He looked pensive.

"Right," said Jack. Refraining from asking if anything was wrong, he sat down on the bed and turned on the television. It was showing the film _Four Weddings and a Funeral_.

The problem was, thought Jack, he _liked_ the boy. Harry, that was. He wanted to keep Harry. He knew he was putting off the phone call to the Dursleys not only because suspense equalled time plus the unknown, but also because as soon as they gave him the money (which he was sure they would), he'd have to return Harry and Dudley both since they were also Harry's guardians.

But, said a little voice in the back of his brain, it didn't seem like the Dursleys bothered to search for Harry. He had watched the evening news and discovered that the police were looking for Dudley, but Harry hadn't even been _mentioned_. Nothing about a skinny fifteen-year-old with black hair and green eyes. Nothing to indicate that there were two boys that lived at Number Four Privet Drive. Dudley's picture had flashed across the screen, but not Harry's. The neighbors interviewed had mentioned Dudley, but not Harry. Maybe the Dursleys had requested that Harry not be searched for by the public.

But why, why would they do that? If both boys were under the care of the Dursleys, and both boys weren't missing, shouldn't they want both of them back?

Unless...Harry wasn't _really_ under the Dursleys' care. Perhaps he was a street waif with neglectful parents, and he was just staying at Privet Drive temporarily, until he found a job or made enough money to live by himself or something. Perhaps the Dursleys had more goodwill than Jack had previously thought.

That can't be right, thought Jack, shaking his head. The Dursleys are clean and pristine; they'd never take in a boy from the streets, and besides, a street boy would never be able to get that far in a suburban neighborhood. And there was no lie in Harry's eyes, as Gandalf the Grey would say...

He sighed. There was something wrong here, and he just couldn't place it.

Jack didn't quite know what it was about Harry. Normally he would have passed the boy off as a moody adolescent, but there was something else there - some kind of wisdom, some kind of intelligence that was nothing like Jack had ever encountered. He knew Harry had seen someone die, but...well, he saw his mother die at Harry's age, and he certainly hadn't turned out like that.

 _Maybe I've just become emotionally attached,_ thought Jack. _Maybe I like Harry because he reminds me a better version of myself. Maybe I'm overanalyzing._

The fact remained, he liked Harry and he wanted to keep him. There just wasn't a clear reason why.

He sighed and turned his attention back to the television.

He didn't like Hugh Grant.

* * *

It wasn't so bad, Harry reflected, watching Dudley eye his fish and chips hungrily. At least the kidnapper - Jack - was a Muggle, and he didn't seem to be under the Imperius Curse. He fed and clothed them, and generally didn't treat them badly. Harry knew that Dudley probably thought that this was equal to the apocalypse, but this was nothing compared to the kidnapping that he had suffered through two months ago...

Harry felt his stomach tighten, and rubbed the scar on his forehead. It had been oddly silent since he had been kidnapped, and though this was somewhat a relief, it worried him as well. Who knew what Voldemort was planning right now? Snape, maybe, but would he really tell Dumbledore the whole truth? Was Snape as loyal as everyone thought?

He wished he could discuss this with someone, anyone...anyone _magical_. His heart ached at the thought of his friends Ron and Hermione, and of his godfather Sirius. Their correspondence over the break had been highly unsatisfying; all their letters had simply told him to "keep his head down" and to wait patiently until he could join them. But when? When could he join them? There was only a month left till the school year started; that was hardly enough time to have homework-free fun.

"Harry."

Harry snapped to attention, and his eyes focused on his cousin. "What?"

"Are you going to eat that?" asked Dudley, pointing a sausage-like finger to the last piece of fish. "You've been staring at it for five minutes now."

Harry looked from the fish to his cousin, comprehension dawning on him slowly. "Oh," he said, "you can have it." He turned away as Dudley popped it into his mouth, chewing openly.

"Harry," Dudley said again, after he had finished.

_"What?"_

Dudley paused for a fraction of a second, trying to figure out how to phrase the question. "Where…where did you get the scar on your elbow?"

Harry stared at him. "What?"

"The scar," repeated Dudley, "on your right elbow." His eyes flicked to the thin brown line marring Harry's skin.

Harry's eyes darkened as he followed Dudley's gaze. "It's none of your business," he answered.

"Did you get it from your school? Is it dangerous there? Do people hate you there too?"

"Shut up, Dudley." Harry turned away, clenching his fists so tightly that his knucles turned white.

"It looks like it came from a cut," Dudley persisted. "And I can see it better that way."

Harry shot him a glare and turned the other way.

"I don't remember seeing it last summer," said Dudley. "So you had to have got it at your school. Did you get in a fight?"

"Dudley," said Harry slowly, staring hard at the wall, "I'm warning you now. Please shut up."

"But –"

"I said, _shut up_."

He didn't want to think about that night. He didn't want to think about Cedric's open, empty eyes, his mouth parted in an expression of surprise. He didn't want to see the sinuous white smoke rising from the cauldron, or the thin white fingers that had touched his face. He didn't want to hear a man's anguished cry as he lost his right hand, which was soon replaced by a silver one with the brother of Harry's wand...

His wand. Hogwarts and magic. Wizards and witches. His friends. His godfather. _Dumbledore_.

For the first time since he had been kidnapped, Harry began to wonder.

Where were they all?

Jack's eyes flicked over to the two boys as commercials flashed across the screen. He had resisted listening to their conversation to show that he trusted them, though he wasn't sure that that was a great idea. Harry was facing away from Dudley, staring at the wall as he rested his chin in his left palm. Flickering white images from the television played across his face, giving him an almost shadowy air. Dudley was looking at his cousin with a curious expression. Jack followed Dudley's gaze and blinked, startled, as he spotted an ugly brown scar at the crook of Harry's right elbow. It looked recent.

 _But,_ thought Jack, _we didn't hurt him...I swear we didn't..._

"Harry," said Jack abruptly, turning off the television, "are you all right?"

Harry glanced at him. "Fine, thanks."

"Your elbow," said Jack, gesturing vaguely.

Harry slid his left elbow off the table with a confused expression on his face.

"No," said Jack, "the other one."

Harry stared at him with a wooden expression.

"The scar," said Jack haltingly, uncertain on how to begin. "There. It – it didn't come from one of us, did it?" Jack asked hurriedly, as Harry's eyes darkened. "I wasn't planning to hurt you."

An almost scornful expression flashed across Harry's face. "No, I got this before you kidnapped me."

Jack felt an odd sense of relief. "It looks pretty new," he said, cocking his head. "When did you get it?"

"And how?"

 _Stop it, Dudley_ , thought Jack irritably. _You're not supposed to ask directly. You have to manipulate the conversation. Harry's never going to tell now!_

Harry took a deep breath, glancing toward Jack and then Dudley.

Well, Jack declared, I may be wrong.

"There was a competition at my school," Harry began, "last year. Someone entered my name into it, and I had to compete. There were three tasks, and for the third task, you had to get through a giant maze to the Cup. Cedric – another student – and I tied for the Cup. We spent some time arguing over who would take it, and then decided to take it together. It trans – the Cup – it was a trap. Cedric and I were kidnapped and taken to a graveyard. They killed him instantly. They hadn't planned for him to come. They wanted me. Wormtail" – Harry's face grew murderous –"tied me to a gravestone and took some of my blood, which they needed to perform a ritual to bring Voldemort back. I was tortured and forced to watch him come back, and he was going to kill me, but I escaped with the help of..." Harry's voice trailed off, and his expression became distant. "I escaped and brought back Cedric's body to the school. And then...and...and that's it. That's how I got the scar. Wormtail cut my elbow and I couldn't do anything about it and God!" Harry's voice was rushed now. "I see it every night in my nightmares, Cedric's wide open eyes staring at me, he wasn't supposed to be there, and where the hell are all my friends right now, why do I have to be stuck at Privet Drive in the summer, I need to go back, I need to, they didn't have to fight him, they didn't have to fight the damn basilisk or save the Sorcerer's Stone or fight hundreds of dementors, what do they know, they don't know how it feels to be hunted every day of your life, you can't escape, there's no news, nobody's telling you anything, you're stuck with your stupid relatives who hate you and you're all alone and cut off when you're the one they're fighting for, I'm sure they know everything and I don't know anything, why isn't anybody telling me anything, why hasn't anyone –"

Jack stared at Harry, speechless, as the boy cut himself off and stared around the room. He hadn't known. He hadn't known at all.

"I'm sorry," said Harry, averting his eyes to the floor. "I'm sorry – I didn't mean –"

"It's – it's all right," said Jack quickly. "Do you want to call it a night? Go to sleep, maybe?"

"Yeah, all right," muttered Harry, still not looking up. Jack could tell that he was embarrassed.

"It's all right, really," repeated Jack. He felt...he didn't know what he felt. He felt as if a million stars had just rained down upon his head, and they were crushing him with their brilliance.

That didn't make sense, did it.

Nothing did anymore.

Harry slumped down into his chair, breathing heavily.

"I'm going to have to tie you two up," said Jack awkwardly.

There was no response from either adolescent, so Jack uncoiled a length of rope and took out his knife. He grabbed Dudley's wrists roughly and tied them together around the chair, but Harry's he took gently and tied with loose knots. He put away the rope, placed the knife on the bedstand, and turned off the lamp. Darkness flooded the room.

"Harry?" Dudley said timidly. It had been nearly three hours since Jack had gone to bed; Dudley could hear his even breathing in the silence. He didn't know if Harry had fallen asleep as well. "Um...are you awake?"

The response was immediate. "Yeah, I'm awake."

"D'you...d'you think you could tell me about the wizarding world?"

There was a slight pause before Harry answered, "Why?"

"I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"I'm scared Jack's going to kill us, and I want to hear something that won't make me think about it. I want a story."

Harry sounded almost amused. "He's not going to kill us, Dudley. And I don't know any stories."

"He doesn't like me."

"So?"

"So...so he'll kill me!"

"No, he won't."

"How do you know?"

"He doesn't want to, that's why. He doesn't want to hurt us." Harry paused briefly before adding, "And even if he tried, I wouldn't let him. Kill you, I mean."

Dudley was so taken aback by this comment that it took him a full three minutes to recover. "Oh. Well. Um. Okay." The last word, "Thanks," couldn't seem to get past his throat. "Okay then."

"I thought you didn't want anything to do with magic," said Harry, returning to the previous thread of conversation..

"I don't! But...I'm – bored."

"And?"

"And I need to hear something interesting."

"You think my life is interesting."

"Well – yeah – I mean, you never talk about it."

"That's because you and your parents hate magic."

"I don't," said Dudley, and he was surprised. "I'm just scared of it."

"Why?"

"It's –"

"Abnormal?" Harry finished in a mocking tone.

"No – I –"

He could see Harry smirking even through the darkness, and felt completely helpless. How could he explain this to his cousin? He just wanted to know. They were family, and he had every right...

"Please?"

The word felt foreign on his tongue. He wondered if he had ever said it, sincerely. Probably not.

Harry sighed. "You said the magic word, so...yes."

And he began.


	5. Truth

They were back in the Garden of the Kiss, as he liked to call it, though in reality it was only a secluded area in a local play park, where kids ran off their seemingly endless supply of energy until dinnertime, or later. There she stood, beautiful as ever, his first kiss and his first date, and the only girl he had ever loved. Her face was framed by long, straight dark brown hair, and her smile was teasing and playful as she walked toward him in a bright red dress and high-heel shoes that glittered in the misty darkness.

"Arlene?" said Jack slowly. He knew this was a dream, because Arlene was long dead, but she seemed so...real, so tangible. He stretched out a hand to touch her, slightly afraid of what might he might find, but she grasped his hand in response, and the strange thrills of physical contact ran through his body. "Arlene," he whispered.

"Did you miss me?" she asked, smiling and cocking her head to one side.

"Very much," he answered. "Oh, God, so much!" He wanted to throw himself at her and kiss her over and over, but he refrained.

Arlene's smile dropped from her face; looking closer, Jack could see her brow furrowed in worry. "What is it?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said, looking up and giving him a small smile.

"No?" He observed her darting eyes, and the way she avoided looking at his face. It reminded him of Harry.

"If you missed me so much," Arlene said, her eyes settling on a point beyond his shoulder, "why didn't you come find me?"

Jack's breath caught in his throat. "What do you mean?"

"You never came," said Arlene. "You never came to see me put to rest. I waited and waited for you to come to visit, but...there was nothing. Not even flowers. Not even a grieving letter left at the grave. Not even a phone call to my friends."

"I couldn't," Jack whispered. "I couldn't bear to go."

"No," said Arlene, shaking her head. "No, you see – I wouldn't be angry at you for that. You promised me." Her voice hardened, and she looked angry. "You promised me that you would always love me. For eternity. Always and forever. But I guess that you never really loved me, because your love for me ended with my death. You stopped loving me. As soon as you found out I was dead, I disappeared from your heart, your mind, your soul. Don't try to deny it," she said, as Jack opened his mouth to protest. "You forgot about me. You didn't even bother to try and keep a memory."

"That's not true," said Jack, "I did try." The words rolled off his tongue automatically, leaving a bitter aftertaste. He knew they were a lie. He'd forgotten about her, because he had had to. He couldn't go on with the past dragging him down. He'd already known the consequences of that, had known how far it would get him.

"But you haven't gone on," said Arlene sadly, as if she could read his mind. "You haven't. You're still stuck on your old hopes and dreams. You still read and study and pretend that one day you're going to get enough money or earn enough merit to go to uni. You still hope that people will take an immediate liking to you if you take an immediate liking to them. You still think," she said, her voice cracking as a single tear rolled down her cheek, "you still think that if you love a boy as a son, then he'll love you as a father. You think that this Harry will want to stay with you because you want him to stay. You believe that if you treat him well enough, then he'll like you enough to stay with you."

Jack gaped at her. "How do you...nobody knows that –"

"Sometimes," continued Arlene, as if she had never been interrupted, "I want to cry, because I know what this is doing to you, and I can't help you. I know that you could do so much better than this; I know you could be so much more. You could be working in an office right now, earning an honest share of money. You could be happily married, playing with your own son instead of kidnapping a teenager to be one. You could have real friends, friends that you don't have to pay to keep you company. But look at you now! Kidnapping boys for ransom, paying dirty guards who share a brain and have only loyalty to money, fighting on the streets to survive. You didn't need to do this, Jack. You _don't_ need to do this. I know you're so much better than that."

Jack felt the beginnings of anger stir within his chest. What right did _she_ – a ghost, a memory, a phantom from the past – have to order him about and lecture him? Who did she think she was, his conscience?

Arlene touched his shoulder gently. "My job here is finished," she said. "You can lead horse to water, but you can't make it drink." A great wind began to blow, scattering the leaves across the ground, and she turned to go. Her hair flew back behind her, and her red dress pressed against the front of her body.

"Wait – Arlene –" called Jack at her retreating back.

She paused for a moment and looked at him. "Good bye, Jack," she said. Giving him a small smile, she walked away, her figure quickly lost to the hazy night.

* * *

As Harry talked, he slowly loosened the ropes on his wrists until his hands were completely free. He shook them out gently and rested them on the table while finishing his account of the Chamber of Secrets.

It was strange to be telling Dudley, of all people, about his adventures at school. Dudley hated magic – well, he was scared of it – and Dudley also hated Harry (or was scared of him). But Dudley had asked for a story (more specifically, the story of Harry's life away from home), and so Harry was giving it to him. After all, he had nothing better to do except escape, and that was only an option after he finished untying himself and Dudley. Good thing Jack had tied his bonds loosely; otherwise it wouldn't be an option at all.

"Riddle tried to get Fawkes away from me, but it was too late. Fawkes brought me the diary, and I took the fang and stabbed the diary with it. Riddle disappeared, and Ginny woke up." Harry stood. He carefully tested his legs for a few seconds, and then went over to Dudley.

"What are you doing?" asked Dudley, alarmed, as Harry's hands scrambled at his back.

"I'm untying you, idiot," Harry hissed. "And talk softer, you'll wake Jack."

"Oh." Dudley paused for a moment, then asked, "Is Ginny your girlfriend?"

Harry laughed incredulously. "No! Why?"

"Well I mean...'cause you saved her and all. So wouldn't you...I dunno..." Dudley looked over his shoulder at Harry. "Wouldn't you go out with her? It's obvious you cared about her."

Harry looked at him doubtfully. "Dudley, I saved her because she was my best friend's sister, and because she was innocent. She didn't deserve to die. I was the only one who could stop Riddle, too."

"Oh...okay..." said Dudley skeptically.

"I don't like Ginny. Not in that way." He stopped himself before he could say exactly who he _did_ like.

"Oh."

"Yeah." Harry gritted his teeth in exertion, pulling at the rope. Dudley's bonds were extremely tight.

"Well, _do_ you like someone?"

"That's none of your business." Harry silently triumphed as he pulled one mass of rope apart.

"Do you fancy girls at all?"

"Of course I do!" said Harry indignantly. "Not Ginny, though. There's someone else –"

"Oh. I was beginning to think you didn't. I thought you fancied men."

Harry spluttered. "No!"

"Who do you like, then?" Dudley asked, sounding interested.

"Dudley," said Harry suspiciously, "why are you so interested in my love life?"

Dudley was silent for moment, and then answered, "I...I tried to ask a girl out once, and she said no."

Privately, Harry wasn't surprised. "Oh. That's – that's nice, Dudley."

"So I was wondering if you could tell me about your – your attempts to ask a girl out."

"Oh," said Harry, trying to find a way to get back to the previous topic. He did _not_ want to talk about girls with Dudley. "Well."

"Well, have you?" Dudley asked.

"Have I what?"

"Have you ever tried to ask a girl out?"

"Um. Yes. But –"

"Did it work?"

"How do you mean?"

"Did she say yes?"

"No. She was, er, she was dating someone else."

"Who was she dating?"

"Cedric," said Harry before he could stop himself.

"Cedric?" said Dudley slowly. "Wasn't he the one who..."

"Who I saw get killed? Yeah."

"Oh. And you asked his _girlfriend_?"

"I didn't know they were dating," said Harry, annoyed. "When I asked her. He was – he was still alive then."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

There was a brief moment of quiet, before Dudley demanded, "Tell me more."

"Okay," said Harry, relieved that they were back on topic. "You remember how I ran away from home one summer? I met my godfather that night –"

"No, I meant more about girls and you."

"Well, there's not much to say. I asked a girl, and got rejected. The end." Harry really did not want to talk about this with Dudley.

"Was this girl pretty?"

"Yes, she's very pretty. _So_ , I met my godfather that night – the convicted murderer, Sirius –"

"What does she look like?"

"Sirius is a man, Dudley."

"No, I meant the girl. That you asked out."

"Why do you want to _know_?" asked Harry, exasperated.

"At least tell me her name," Dudley whined.

"Her name is Cho, all right? Now can we _please_ get back to the story?"

"Have you ever tried asking any other girls out?"

"No," Harry lied.

"What about that girl who kissed you at the train station?"

Harry blinked. "Who?"

"That brown-haired girl."

"Oh, Hermione," said Harry, laughing. "No, we're not dating."

"But she _kissed_ you."

"What's your point, Dudley?"

"So maybe she likes you."

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. "No, she doesn't. Don't try to tell me that she does, we already went over that last year. Rita Skeeter..."

"Who?"

"A reporter – she made up some story on how Hermione and I were dating, and we weren't, and everyone thought we were...but, we weren't. And I've never liked Hermione in that way. She wasn't even my date for the Yule Ball."

"What's that?"

"Oh –" Harry grinned, finding a way to get off the subject of girls. "It's a – a dance that we had last year for the Triwizard Tournament. The Triwizard Tournament, you see, is this competition..."

There were voices now, two strangely familiar voices, and Jack wished that they would go away and let him sleep. One could hardly get a moment's rest in the city nowadays – the walls of the flat were so thin – Arlene always hated coming over to his place for that reason. He wondered why he had dreamed that Arlene was dead...Arlene wasn't dead...the subconscious acted so strangely sometimes.

"Dragons? Wow! So what did they do?" The voice cut into his sleep, his rest, and he clenched his fists, wishing them to stop.

"Well, Krum used –"

"Who's Krum again?"

"The Durmstrang champion. He used a Conjunctivitus Curse..."

"What does that do?"

"Just what it says. It blinds the dragon, and..."

* * *

Jack could see a roaring dragon now, and a duck-footed boy shooting a curse out of a magic wand, and he thought it quite odd; he had never really liked fantasy, and besides, he hadn't dreamed about dragons since he was four, when his father had told him that story about Saint George and the dragon...

The voices stopped, and Jack let out a sigh of relief, keeping his eyes closed. Now he could go to sleep.

But his mind was racing, grasping at names and faces and figures, but he didn't know what they were and tried to meditate for a moment – just like that Buddhist person had taught him once. Breathe in, breathe out, focus on one word or object...what were those two words he had used when he tried it...?

 _Desire_. Breathe in.

 _Love_. Breathe out.

 _Desire._ Inhale.

 _Love_. Exhale.

_Desire._

_Love._

_Desire._

_Love._

_Desire._

_Love._

_Desire..._

_Love..._

His mind was quiet, yet tired; and finally he fell asleep once more, a peaceful smile on his face. He didn't notice the two boys creeping out of the room, or the pocket knife they had stolen from the bed stand, and he didn't hear the door close as his captives escaped from the room.

* * *

Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he and Dudley closed the hotel door behind them. He had grabbed Jack's knife from the night stand in order to speed up the process of freeing Dudley, and surprisingly, Jack hadn't woken up. He seemed to be having some sort of dream, mumbling in his sleep about someone named "Arlene." Harry vaguely wondered about Jack's dating history as he and Dudley quickly walked to the lobby of the hotel. Was Arlene an old girlfriend, or just a friend? Maybe Arlene had been Jack's wife. That is, if Jack had ever got married at all.

Mentally shrugging, Harry followed Dudley and stepped outside of the hotel.

"Um, Harry?" asked Dudley.

"Hmm?" Harry replied distractedly, looking at the surroundings. The hotel was located near an isolated rural area, with a pretty woods and a picturesque landscape. No wonder Jack had chosen to keep them there; it was probably the only haven for miles. The good thing was that they could hide in the woods without much trouble, but the bad thing was that they wouldn't be able to find any shelter or food. Harry hadn't yet formed a plan as to what they would to; all he wanted was to get as far away from the hotel as possible. He didn't dislike Jack or anything; he simply disliked being a captive.

"Harry, what are we going to do?" asked Dudley.

Harry sighed, and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "We're going to hide out in that forest, and try to get help. That all right with you?"

Dudley nodded.

"Come on then."

Grabbing Dudley's hand, Harry sprinted toward the woods, hoping that this would soon be over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack's dream: I'd written out most of Jack's general history, and his relationship with Arlene, but I figured out that they would never, ever fit into the timeframe of the story, and so decided just to put little hints of Jack's life into the chapter with a dream. I tried to fulfill most of the readers' requests in some way (from the poll that I rashly made in my Yahoo! Group). The purpose of Arlene is to serve as Jack's inner voice of reason, or his conscience, or whatever you want to call it. She reveals his true feelings, tells a little of his history, and kind of hints at what he should do. He met her when they were both sixteen at his secondary school; they dated seriously and steadily from age seventeen to twenty, when she was raped and murdered by a stranger. Jack really did love her. (Arlene was mentioned in chapter 2, by the way.)
> 
> Jack's semi-conscious state: When Jack wakes up, he hears Harry and Dudley's voices, and, not quite awake, he thinks he's still living in his London flat (which he did before Arlene's death). After Arlene's death, Jack gradually dropped out of polite society and to the streets.
> 
> Harry and Dudley: The conversations, I hope, were in character – they were supposed to show the progression of the two boys' relationship, and the trust they've started to place in each other (out of necessity).


	6. Return

" _This is the way the world ends  
Not with a bang but a whimper."_

-T.S. Eliot, _The_ _Hollow Men_

Jack woke to glaring sunlight and a very strange feeling in his stomach. Disoriented, he stumbled out of bed and stopped to look at the clock. It was 10:00 A.M., and, he discovered as he looked around him, he had no idea where he was. A hotel, obviously, but which? And how did he get here?

He mindlessly set to the task of gathering his things, hoping that they would provide some clue as to what had happened last night. His trusty black bag had clothes, maps, and a coil of rope for some reason – perhaps he had decided to climb a mountain? His toothbrush and things were at the sink. There was nothing at the little wooden table in the corner of the room except strips of rope, which he threw into the waste bin hurriedly as he searched for his pocket knife –

It was gone.

Jack took a deep breath and sat on the edge of the bed, trying to still the beginnings of panic. What could have happened to it, what could he have done that would cause him to lose it or leave it somewhere? It was the only thing that he had from his father, and –

Two faces flashed suddenly in his mind's eye: blond hair and blue eyes and a chubby face, and bespectacled green eyes and black hair and pale skin.

_What?_

_Harry._ _Dudley_ _._

Jack reeled as a barrage of images assaulted him. _Red dress money frightened boy struggling scar green shirt ransom twin guards McDonald's love care conscience son Dudley Harry Harry Harry –_

He gasped sharply as he realized what he had done. He had taken two boys, had kidnapped them and taken them away from their comfort and home and friends and family, and now their lives were in his hands. Their lives were in his hands, and if they got hurt or killed then he would be responsible and there'd be a death on his hands. And he'd really be charged with murder and sent to prison and he'd have no excuse –

He had to find them. He had to take them back. He had to apologize.

They weren't at the table where he had put them; they must have escaped, cut their bonds with his knife and taken it, and run away. But to where?

A quick glance at the window answered his question.

Wrenching open the door, Jack hoisted his bag onto his shoulder and nearly bowled over one of the maids as he dashed down to the lobby and out to the woods, seeking his wayward captives.

* * *

Harry lay awake as the pale grey light of daybreak seeped through the thick canopy above his head. He and Dudley had run for a while, but the lack of sleep, coupled with a growing hunger, had forced them to stop and take a rest. Dudley had collapsed on the ground and fallen asleep almost immediately, but Harry, restless with anxiety, had settled for staring at the sky while keeping an ear out for intruders. Occasionally punctuated by Dudley's loud snores, the night had passed fairly peacefully, and Harry felt safe for the time being. No animals had tried to attack them; his scar had not hurt at all; he had seen no sign of Jack. It was simply him and Dudley, spending a night out in the forest.

Sighing, Harry curled up on his side and stared at the tree trunks around them. He had no clear idea of where to go or what to do: he didn't have any Muggle money with him to pay any sort of fare, and he didn't have his wand, so he couldn't summon the Knight Bus. Besides, all of his wizarding money was locked in his trunk to prevent the Dursleys from getting their hands on it, so he wouldn't have been able to pay for the Knight Bus regardless.

Dudley's loud yawn jerked Harry back to reality, and he sat up to look at his cousin. "Sleep well?" he asked.

Dudley made a noise of assent, stretching. Harry looked away; even if Dudley had lost weight during the past year, it still wasn't pleasant to see his bare stomach. "Are you hungry?" Harry asked. "I don't have any money, but I guess we could...I dunno...scrounge..."

"I've never scrounged before," said Dudley, speaking as if this had never occurred to him. "Have you?"

"Me?" Harry asked. "No."

"Oh." Dudley sounded surprised. Harry twisted to look at him indignantly. "Well..." Dudley stammered, "I just thought..."

"Right," said Harry, raising his eyebrows. He stood up abruptly, brushing leaves off his clothes. "I'm going to take a look around and see where we are," he said. "Stay here and rest for a bit." He looked at Dudley searchingly. "You'll be all right here?"

Dudley nodded.

"Don't do anything stupid," Harry said, turning around, and he walked away in search of a road.

* * *

Apparently, thought Jack, shaking his head disapprovingly, Harry and Dudley didn't know the definition of "incognito."

He had been walking through the forest for about an hour now, following the very obvious trail that the boys had left behind. They had traveled in a relatively straight line that always proceeded in the same direction: away from the hotel, and away from him. It wasn't that that annoyed him, though; it was the fact that they hadn't even bothered to cover their trail. Traveling in a straight path was quite all right. After all, a straight line was approximately three times less in distance than traveling in a circle. If there had been one thing he'd learned in maths, that had been it: _C = 2-pi-_ _r, or_ _pi-d_...

He shook his head, clearing it of inane symbols and formulas. Right now, he needed to concentrate on finding the boys. He didn't know how far they could travel with their physique; both were fairly healthy, had no injuries, and could survive on little sleep (couldn't all teenagers?) They didn't have a food source, but then, what did food matter when you were trying to escape? It didn't.

Jack grew more and more irritated with himself as he absently pursued their trail. How could he have been so stupid as to kidnap two boys just for the sake of money? How could he have forgotten all the lessons that his mother had taught him as a child? There were more important things than money, and there were more important people than himself. He'd probably driven the boys' friends mad with worry by now, not to mention the Dursleys. Even if they were repulsive and greedy, they were still parents, and they still cared about their son.

Something caught the corner of Jack's eye, and he stopped abruptly. Between the trees he saw a flash of gold, illuminated by the open sunlight. Upon closer inspection, he found that it belonged to the hair on top of Dudley Dursley's head. Dudley himself was sitting on the ground, leaning against the back of a tree at the edge of a small glade. He seemed to be asleep.

Jack took a hesitant step forward. He didn't want to disturb Dudley's sleep, but he also needed to find Harry...

Well, Harry would surely come back for Dudley, wherever he was. The previous escape attempt had proved that much. All Jack had to do was get to the spot where Dudley was (preferably without waking Dudley up, as he'd no desire to wait in awkward silence), and wait for Harry. He had water in his bag, so there was no risk of dehydration.

He had only made a few strides forward before a shrill scream rent the air.

"HARRRRRRRY!"

Dudley appeared to be hyperventilating as Jack stepped toward him. "HARRRRRY!" he screamed again.

 _That_ was a sure way to get Harry over there. "Relax, Dudley, I've come to take you back –" Jack winced as Dudley let out yet another scream. "Stop _screaming_ , you're going to split my ears open –"

"Jack!"

Jack let out a sigh of relief and turned to see Harry stride into the small clearing. "Harry," he breathed.

Harry eyed him warily. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to take you home," said Jack, and he continued in a rush. "I'm terribly sorry about this – this – everything. Just please let me see that you're back home safely. It's the least I can do. I'm so sorry."

"Er –" Harry looked taken aback. "Go? Now?"

Before Jack had a chance to answer, a voice came out of nowhere. "Don't, Harry. Don't do it."

Jack started. "Did you hear that?" he asked.

"Yeah," answered Harry, looking around nervously. "Who's there?" he called out.

As if on cue, a dozen slim pieces of wood of various shapes and sizes emerged and formed a circle surrounding them. The people that held them followed shortly after. All of them were dressed in long black robes, and wore bowler hats on tops of their heads. Jack stared in silent astonishment.

Behind him, Dudley let out a frightened squeak, and hit the ground with a thump.

Harry let out a strangled noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. "Erm, Jack," he said, "could you check Dudley's pulse?"

Obviously Harry knew what was happening.

Jack knelt down next to Dudley, three wooden sticks following his every move, and one of the weirdoes (or, to put it politely, strange people) went toward Harry, lowered his stick, and greeted him. Jack resisted the urge to stand in front of Harry protectively as the two began to talk. What if the man hurt Harry? What if he were deceiving the boy? Harry was Jack's charge, not anyone else's! If any of these people dared hurt him...

 _Stop it_ , he scolded himself. _Harry is his own person. He can take care of himself._

Right.

Turning his attention to the unconscious boy in front of him, Jack placed two fingers on Dudley's wrist and began to feel for a pulse.

"Glad to see you're not hurt, Harry," said Remus Lupin quietly, coming forward from the circle of wizards.

"I'm all right. I'm fine," Harry replied, trying to keep his voice level. Some part of him found the situation hilarious, though he did not know why. "How did you...I mean, what are you doing here?"

"Dumbledore sent us," answered Lupin. "We're your guard."

"My – guard?"

"To see that you leave here safely," said Lupin.

"Where are we going?"

"The Dursleys."

"The Dursleys?" Harry echoed in alarm. "But –"

"It's safest there," said Lupin. He held up his hand to prevent any more questions. "We've taken care of it, don't worry."

Harry doubted very much that the wizards had taken care of it enough to keep him from being punished, but he simply nodded.

"Man's definitely a Muggle, then?" Lupin inquired lowly, gazing at Jack with interest. "You didn't sense any spells or curses of any kind?"

"No," said Harry. "How long have you been here?" Harry asked. "And what are you going to do about Jack?"

"We'll Memory Charm him and send him on his merry way," growled Alastor Moody, coming to Lupin's side with his magical eye rolling crazily. "Don't look so worried, Potter, none of us is named Gilderoy Lockhart." Harry grinned slightly.

"We just found you today," Lupin said. "Had to work with the Muggles, pretend we were special detectives so that we would be in charge of your case."

"The police?" said Harry, wondering just how a wizard could work with the Muggle law enforcement without revealing that he had magical powers.

"We've got some Muggle contacts," said Moody. "They put in a word here and there, said we were very 'reliable private investigators.'"

"In addition to looking for you, we had to clean up the trail that Jack left behind," Lupin said. "It seemed that he talked to quite a number of people on his way here."

"Does that mean –?"

"We did Memory Charms on all of them," Moody interrupted. "Inconvenience, if you ask me, but we can't risk anyone finding out about you."

"But – it was on the Muggle news," Harry said. "The whole country knows about us. All the Muggles."

"They know about your cousin, but not you," Lupin said. "That was our work. If word got out that Harry Potter was somewhere out in the country, wandless and unprotected, then Death Eaters would be all over the country looking for you, killing Muggles in the process."

"Don't they do that anyway?" Harry muttered darkly.

"The point is, Potter," cut in Moody, "we've prepared a Portkey for you and your cousin. Get him over here, and we'll leave."

"My cousin fainted," Harry told him.

"He did, did he?" queried Moody. "It's to be expected. Get the Muggle away from him, then, and we'll travel with him unconscious. It'll be better for him physically."

Harry nodded. Taking a deep breath, he went over to Jack and Dudley, and knelt down next to them. Jack glanced at him and said, "Dudley's pulse is fine. He'll just have a nasty bump on the head when he wakes up."

"Thanks," Harry said. "Er..."

"You know them?" Jack asked, taking a quick look over his shoulder. "Are they your friends?"

"Well...yeah. Kind of. They're going to take me and Dudley back..." Harry looked back at Moody and Lupin, who were both watching the exchange interestedly. "I need to take Dudley," Harry said quickly.

"Well then," said Jack, creating a space between him and Dudley, "he's all yours."

Harry grabbed one of Dudley's arms and began to rise.

"Wait, Harry," said Jack. Harry stopped mid-turn. "I need my knife back."

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the pocket knife. It was a small thing with a black handle, similar to the one Sirius had given him last Christmas. He briefly considered tossing it to Jack, but instead knelt down again and handed it to him personally.

Jack gave him a grateful smile. "Goodbye, Harry," he said, grasping Harry's shoulder briefly. "Good luck."

"'Bye," said Harry awkwardly. He stood up and turned away, seizing Dudley's arm and heaving his body onto his back before he made his way over to Moody and Lupin. "I'm ready," he said.

"On the count of three," growled Moody, holding out an old gum wrapper. Lupin and Harry touched their fingers to it. "Three – two – one..."

Harry felt a familiar jerk at his navel, and the world disappeared in a rush of color and sound.

Jack buried his face in his knee as Harry walked away from him, dragging Dudley's bulk. He vaguely thought about helping Harry carry his cousin, but decided that Harry was big enough to handle it and that there were enough people there to carry both boys, if need be. He didn't know how long he remained in that position, half on the ground and half not as he tried to hide his face from the world, but when someone tapped him on the shoulder and he stood up, Harry and Dudley were already gone.

"Good afternoon," said the man in a deep voice. He was one of the strange people, but he wasn't holding a stick or looking at Jack suspiciously. The two remaining ones were, though.

"Hello," said Jack politely. "Are you going to question me?"

The black man nodded, his gold hoop earring flashing in the sunlight. "My name's Kingsley Shacklebolt," he said, holding out his hand. Jack shook it. "We'll just start with the basic ones," said Shacklebolt, taking out a pen and a pad of paper. "Name, age, date of birth, things like that."

Jack nodded. "All right."

"What is your full name?"

"Jack Gareth Brennar."

"Date of birth?"

"August 24, 1963."

"Parents' names?"

"Bernadette and Peter."

"Place of residence?"

"None, currently. Oh, the hotel, I guess." He gave the room number.

"Why did you kidnap Harry Potter and Dudley Dursley from 4 Privet Drive two days ago?"

"I wanted to get a ransom of ninety-thousand pounds from Dudley's parents. Harry...that was a mistake, I mean, we weren't supposed to do it. I didn't even know he existed, but we happened to look in his room and I thought that he'd be good for more ransom, so I just...took him."

"Who is 'we?'"

"Oh, me and my two guards. They're staying the room next to mine." He didn't want to say that he paid them to help him.

Shacklebolt jotted this down, nodding. "You didn't hear any voices telling you to take Harry?" he asked. "No outside entities in your mind? How about feeling like you had no control over what you were doing?"

"Erm...no," said Jack, giving Shacklebolt a funny look. "I was definitely aware of what I was doing, and I heard no voices ordering me to do anything."

"Did you meet or see anyone prior to the kidnapping who was dressed like us, or who wore a white mask?"

Jack thought. He had gone to London with the guards, and they had walked around a bit and eaten some food, taking in a view of the Thames River, but they hadn't seen anyone really strange. Well, not any stranger than the regularly strange people in London, and Shacklebolt and his crew were definitely stranger than the regularly strange. "No," Jack answered.

"Can you describe to me what you did prior to the kidnapping?"

Jack did.

"How about the kidnapping itself? How did you infiltrate the Dursleys' home?"

Jack bit back a smile at the use of the word "infiltrate," and answered, describing in detail what they did. He cringed at some parts, wondering how on Earth he could have been so stupid, but managed to finish the account.

"And – this is a personal question," said Shacklebolt, shoving the pen and paper into a pocket of his long robes. "Do you like Harry?"

"How do you mean?" said Jack warily.

"Do you have any personal affection toward him?" Shacklebolt rephrased.

Jack exhaled slowly. "Yes," he answered, after a moment's hesitation. "I love him as I would love a son."

"Thank you, sir," said Shacklebolt firmly. He held out his hand once more, and Jack shook it.

"What are you going to do with me?" asked Jack, eyeing the two wooden sticks behind Shacklebolt.

"Just close your eyes for a moment," said Shacklebolt.

All of Jack's defenses sprang up, and alarm bells rang in his head. "Why?" he asked. His hand inched toward the pocket where he had put his knife.

"We're not going to kill you," said Shacklebolt, holding up his hands.

Jack looked at him suspiciously, but closed his eyes anyway. He heard movement in the background, and strained his ears for any shifty noises. None; there was no crackle of crushed dry leaves, no click of a loading gun, no swish of an opening knife. Only the word, _"Obliviate_."

And the world went black.

* * *

Harry and Dudley landed with a crash in the flowerbeds of 4 Privet Drive, eliciting a familiar shriek from Petunia and a loud bellow from Vernon Dursley. "I've had enough of you freaks!" he shouted. "Wait till I get the police on you!" He did not, however, come outside. Harry supposed that he was too afraid.

Brushing dirt off his face groggily, Harry pulled himself away from Dudley and stood up, nearly tripping over one of the neatly trimmed hedges lining the garden.

"All right, Harry?" Lupin inquired, who was standing next to him. Harry nodded.

"Time to wake your cousin, then," said Moody, clunking forward with his wooden leg. "Lupin, do the honors..."

Lupin leaned over Dudley and took out his wand. _"Ennervate_ ," he muttered. Dudley's eyes fluttered open, and he let out a yell.

"Be quiet, Dudley," said Harry, leaning down and giving his cousin a hand.

"Wh-where are we?" asked Dudley, looking around wildly.

"Home, idiot," said Harry tiredly. "Let's get inside, shall we?"

They made their way up to the front door, followed by Lupin and Moody. Harry rang the doorbell.

"You!" Uncle Vernon snarled at Harry as he opened the door. "What did you do to Dudley?"

"Dinky Diddyums!" Aunt Petunia's face appeared from behind Uncle Vernon's neck. "Are you all right? Did he hurt you?"

"Get inside," Uncle Vernon said, grabbing Harry by the shoulder and shoving him through the doorway. Dudley followed him into the house slowly. "You," Uncle Vernon addressed Lupin, "you should feel grateful that we're even thanking you for this. Your freakish world got us into this mess –"

"It did not," Harry interrupted. "It wasn't even a wizard who kidnapped us –"

"Shut up!" Uncle Vernon roared. "I do not want to hear that – that _word_ in my house!"

Aunt Petunia winced. "Vernon, dear, let's just get inside and leave them alone. We don't want the neighbors hearing..."

"You're right, Petunia dear," Uncle Vernon grunted, still eyeing Lupin and Moody warily. "You two freaks, get off my lawn!"

Lupin and Moody didn't move. "We'd like to have a word with you about Harry," said Lupin, in a quiet but authoritative voice. "None of this was his fault, and if you ever dare to punish him for it, you'll have us – and a whole bunch of other 'freaks' – to answer to. Do you understand me?"

Uncle Vernon cast a nervous glance at Petunia, who nodded, frightened.

"Yes, yes, we understand," he said, clearing his throat. "No harm to the boy, we won't harm him at all."

"We'll be watching, Dursley," growled Moody, lifting his head so that his magical eye was visible. Uncle Vernon yelped and slammed the door. Harry heard two faint popping noises as the wizards Disapparated.

"Well, boy," said Uncle Vernon, glaring down at Harry, "what have you go to say for yourself?"

"I didn't do anything," said Harry, shrugging.

"Why you little –" Grabbing Harry's shoulder, Uncle Vernon began to force him up the stairs, his face redder by the minute. "Little ingrate, after all that we've done for you!"

"It wasn't his fault, Dad," said Dudley quietly from the hallway.

Uncle Vernon halted mid-stride. "W-what did you say, Dud?" he asked. Harry winced as the grip on his shoulder tightened.

"Stop it," said Dudley, his voice louder this time. "It wasn't his fault. Let him be."

"Dud, I don't want you to repeat what those brainwashing freaks have been telling you –"

Dudley stamped his foot, causing the whole house to shake. "I'm not!" he screamed. "Let Harry go!"

"D-Dudleykins, calm down," said Aunt Petunia, her voice shaking. Her eyes roamed over the dirt on the stairs from Harry's shoes. "We understand that you've been through a terrible experience and –"

Dudley ignored her. "Let go of Harry, Dad."

Uncle Vernon backed away from Harry, his hands raised in the air.

"Harry," said Dudley, disregarding his gaping parents, "are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Harry answered, meeting Dudley's eyes. "Thanks."

Dudley looked away quickly and turned to his mother. "Can I have some breakfast now?" he asked.

"Of course, Diddykins," she simpered. She shot a venomous glare at Harry before leading Dudley into the kitchen.

Harry rolled his eyes and walked past his fuming uncle to his room. Shaking off his shoes and socks, he closed the door as Uncle Vernon commenced down the stairs, seemingly deciding to ignore Harry for the time being. Harry took off his glasses and curled up on the bed, not bothering to get under the covers. Within five minutes, he was asleep.

* * *

When Jack woke, he was lying on the ground in the middle of a forest, staring up at the twinkling starlight in the black night sky. He could not recall where he was or how he had got there, and for a moment he could not even remember his own name. After he had figured that out, he waited for the memories to come rushing back to him, as they usually did after he passed out, but nothing happened. He couldn't remember a single thing.

He decided that he might as well get up and find somewhere to stay; he had his bag with him (for some reason), and there was some money in his pocket, enough for one night at a decent inn. He walked slowly out of the forest, occasionally falling to his knees when a blinding light assaulted his mind, and found himself at the door of a hotel.

The sudden thought came that he was staying here, in room 205.

"Right," he muttered. He pushed open the door and somehow managed to get up to his room. Once there, he collapsed onto his bed and groped for the alarm clock. It was 1:00 in the morning.

 _I must be drunk_ , he thought dizzily.

Without bothering to take off his shoes, Jack pulled the covers over him and closed his eyes, his last thought a wish for this hangover to be over in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C = 2-pi-r, or pi-d: a common mathematical formula used to calculate the circumference (essentially, the perimeter of a circle). p (pi) is a constant equal to about 3.14 units; r is radius; d is diameter, or 2 times r. People think about weird things; what can I say?
> 
> The Hollow Men is a famous poem written by American T.S. Eliot.


	7. Epilogue

Jack stood at the window of a London boardinghouse, taking a sip of water as he fanned himself with one hand. It was the hottest day of the summer, and he had just returned from an interview at a newly opened bookshop, where he hoped to get a simple job as a clerk or a book stacker. They weren't his ideal occupations, but he had wasted the last ten years of his life, and he was not planning to waste any more. Everyone had to start somewhere.

An old woman named Marie owned the boardinghouse where he stayed. She was a kind and slightly eccentric old lady who had taken him in under the condition that he do the gardening for her, and that he find a job before summer's end. "With a handsome face like yours," she said cheerfully at their first dinner, "it shouldn't be too hard to find a job. People like handsome people."

"Er, thank you," said Jack. "I don't think I'm handsome, erm..."

"Oh, the good ones never do," she answered airily, standing up and taking his half-finished bowl of soup. "That's what makes them so attractive. They're modest. Nobody wants to date a wanker who thinks he's beautiful. It grates on your nerves and turns you into a screaming mess. I would know," she grinned, winking.

Jack smiled hesitantly in return.

He looked down at the city now, with its continuous streams of people coming and going, and the indignant honks of the taxi drivers as they tried to drive 'round. He loved the city, he really did; it embodied vitality, and emitted a constant flow of energy that spread to every resident and every visitor in it. One never really knew what to expect.

Including, of course, a snowy-white owl flying to one's window in the middle of the day and dropping a large box on one's head.

Jack stared at the owl and reached down to pick up the parcel. Attached to it was a letter addressed to him.

"Who sent you?" Jack asked, turning to the owl. She gave a dignified hoot, ruffled her feathers, and flew off.

Well, thought Jack, shaking his head. He opened the envelope and pulled out a thick sheet of parchment that smelled of raw ink and antique stores. The letter, indeed, was written in some sort of crude black ink reminding him strongly of the 1700's. How quaint. Perhaps the writer practiced calligraphy.

Opening the letter, he began to read.

_Dear Jack,_

_I don't really know where to begin. You probably don't remember me. Actually, I'm pretty sure that you don't remember me at all. (I bet you're thinking that this is some prank letter that's meant to confuse you, but it's not). We met through some very strange circumstances last week, and you lent me a set of clothes. I wanted to return them to you, and to thank you for lending them to me. I also wanted to thank you for taking care of me. You probably don't remember that. Thanks anyway, though._

_Sincerely,_

There was no name.

He slit the parcel open with his knife (it at least had been wrapped normally), and beheld a respectable set of clothes: a collard green shirt, a brown leather belt, and a pair of khaki pants. They were neatly pressed and folded. As he shook the pants out, wondering if he should wear them, two gold coins fell out of the pockets. Closer examination revealed that they were "Unum Galleons" of "Gringott's Bank," whose crest consisted of an artfully carved dragon. Jack put one of the coins in his mouth and bit down experimentally. His teeth sank into the metal, and he raised his eyebrows, impressed. Real gold! How much was it worth? Maybe he could sell it off to someone.

Vaguely wondering who sent the letter (for no one he knew would send the post by owl, in daytime of all things), he took the coin out of his mouth and wiped his perspiring hands on his jeans, preparing to go down to lunch. Meanwhile, in a quiet Surrey neighborhood, a teenage boy at 4 Privet Drive smiled as a snowy-white owl flew in through the window of the smallest bedroom in the house.

"Thanks, Hedwig," said Harry, finishing off a bit of Honeydukes chocolate, and he sat down to work on his summer homework.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and/or kudos always appreciated!
> 
> Tumblr: [dragongirlG-fics](https://dragongirlg-fics.tumblr.com/)  
> Dreamwidth: [dragongirlG](https://dragongirlg.dreamwidth.org/)  
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